


Tiny

by meh_guh



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Auction, Kidfic, M/M, References to Child Abuse, Vulcan Space Marriage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-27
Updated: 2013-06-27
Packaged: 2017-12-16 08:02:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/859808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meh_guh/pseuds/meh_guh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim Kirk is an adorable kid, but Spock really wants his captain back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tiny

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kisariiem](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kisariiem/gifts).



> For the lovely and generous Kisariiem, who won me at auction. Much love, darling <3, and any time you want to make me dance for you, you need only ask ^_~  
> Eternal thanks to Mirianna for being a champion sounding-board even though she's never seen any Trek (whut? How does that even _happen_?)  
>  This fic references child abuse and raises the possibility of that abuse being sexual as well. If you want more info before trying it out, my ask box at tumblr (meh-guh.tumblr.com) is probably the best option. End notes for further explanation

The first clue that something has gone horribly, catastrophically wrong is the popping hiss of static over the comms, followed by Lieutenant Anderson's quiet 'oh shit.'

Spock frowns a little at the obscenity, but he has spent far too much time among humans to take any real issue with their occasional forays into unprofessionalism, so he just says 'Report, away team.'

'Uh,' Anderson replies, and Spock ruthlessly suppresses the twinge of worry at Kirk's continued silence. There will be a reason, and there is nothing Spock can do from here. 'I think we need to come back, sir. I don't... I think I need to explain in person.'

'Do you require medical assistance, lieutenant?' Spock is already paging McCoy, half out of his seat himself in preparation for heading to the transporter.

'Ye-eah,' Anderson's voice cracks with the strain of some physical effort, but he doesn't sound overly worried. 'I think that Dr McCoy should be standing by.'

Spock notes the concerned glances being shared around the bridge; Chekov and Sulu communicating through eyebrow and mouth twitches, Nyota's shoulders tightening when she thinks no one's looking, Yeoman Rand blanking her expression and bending over a console.

'Very well,' Spock takes the three strides over to the elevator. 'Mister Sulu, you have the conn. Dr McCoy to the transporter.'

****

The technician on duty keeps her attention on the instruments, to Spock's approval. Dr McCoy and two of his nurses are hovering in the doorway weighed down by half of medbay, well-versed by now in the myriad ways Kirk can manage to damage himself during his forays off ship.

The transporter whines, and the away team rematerialises in a casually-protective circle. There appear to be no visible injuries, but it only takes 0.35 seconds for Spock to note the Captain's absence.

'Where's Jim?' Dr McCoy barks, stomping forward and brandishing a hypospray at Anderson. 'Has the damn fool gotten himself captured again?'

Anderson's shoulders bunch up then straighten, and he steps to one side to reveal a Terran child of approximately seven years crouched on the platform inside the ring of security. Dr McCoy's mouth drops open and the first syllable of an obscenity comes out before he claps a hand over his mouth. The child looks up, and one glance of those eyes cements Spock's hypothesis.

'Is he merely physically regressed, or has the Captain's mental age reduced as well?' he asks Anderson.

'Can you get mentally younger than five?' Dr McCoy says on automatic snark, then he snaps his fingers at one of his nurses. 'Blanket, tricorder and set up an iso-bed,' the nurse turns, and Dr McCoy shouts after him 'and pull the Captain's full history!'

'He doesn't seem to remember, sir,' Anderson's tone is puzzlingly apologetic.

Spock tilts his head as Dr McCoy runs his tricorder over Kirk's form, then pulls himself together. 'Lieutenant Anderson, if there is nothing that requires immediate action you have ten minutes to stow your gear and change your uniform, then I will see you in the Captain's office. Away team dismissed.'

Anderson salutes, and the whole team trickles out of the transporter room, suspiciously slowly and with many glances towards Kirk's small, hunched form. Spock turns his attention to the captain and Dr McCoy in time to see Kirk jerk away from the doctor's hand.

'I'm a doctor, son,' Dr McCoy says, and the difference between his current tone and the usual gruff brusqueness of his manner is a little jarring. 'I just need to see that you're OK.'

Kirk's small chin tilts up, and the pose he strikes is so very like his adult self that Spock is hard pressed to keep a smile from appearing.

'I'm fine,' he says, eyes narrowed. 'Just lemme catch a bus and I'll be out of your hair.'

'Bus service is a little thin out here,' Dr McCoy's accent thickens, and the easing of tension in Kirk's body leads Spock to reassess his opinion of the doctor's habit of playing up outdated stereotypes with recalcitrant patients. 'You hungry at all? We've got some great chocolate milk programmed in the replicator.'

Spock clears his throat, and when Dr McCoy looks up, he tilts his head towards the corner. McCoy snorts, but follows Spock, both of them half turning away from Kirk.

'Do you have any concerns to raise, Doctor?' Spock murmurs, then continues before the doctor's reflexive sarcasm can kick in. 'Other than the captain's regression.'

Dr McCoy's face screws up, and he shoots a glance back at Kirk. 'He seems in reasonable health for now. I'll be wanting as much data as you can pry out of the Phthians and the away team, so you go start prying. I'll take Jim to medbay; I can keep an eye on him for now.'

Spock takes one look at Kirk's mulish expression and clenched fists and leaves the doctor to it.

****

Anderson's managed to collect his dignity by the time Spock strides into the captain's office 8.49 minutes later, in a fresh tunic and standing at attention.

'Your report, Lieutenant,' Spock requests, folding his own hands behind his back.

Anderson straightens his shoulders a little more. 'We beamed down without trouble, sir, and the Phthians seemed welcoming and willing to consider our proposal. Captain Kirk was offered a tour of one of their temples-'

'The away team disbanded?' Spock spends a moment running through a calming mantra. Kirk really is the most infuriating being; does he truly have no care for his own safety?

'No sir,' Anderson says quickly. 'He demurred, and then a priest came out of the temple with some sort of... we though it was a scanner, sir. Captain Kirk tried to call the ship, but they'd blocked our signal, and the phasers just wouldn't fire. We tried to engage, but the captain ordered us to stand down...'

Spock gives the lieutenant a nod, dismissing his obvious distress as unfounded guilt. Kirk has always laughed at the risks he takes. Spock can just picture the captain's grinning face as he waved away the security officers' concerns when approached by an alien wielding unknown technology. And they would have been grossly outnumbered in any case.

'The captain froze in place, and the priest chanted something the translator couldn't parse,' Anderson continues in a rush. 'And suddenly he was a child. They brought him clothes in the right size, then unjammed the communications channel, sir.'

'I see,' Spock takes a moment to examine the report mentally, but no questions spring to mind. 'Thank you, Lieutenant. Dismissed.'

Anderson salutes, then retreats. Spock puts a call though to Nyota.

'Yes, commander?' her bell-like tones ring out immediately.

'Raise the Viceroy,' Spock orders her. 'And start preparing a level 1 priority transmission to Starfleet. Dr McCoy will have any details not in Lieutenant Anderson's verbal report.'

'Acknowledged,' she says, but the line stays open.

'Do you have something to report, Lieutenant?' Spock asks when it becomes clear she isn't going to initiate the conversation.

'The captain's all right, isn't he?' she asks, voice lowered in an attempt to avoid eavesdropping by the bridge crew. 'I mean-'

'Captain Kirk is in good health,' Spock reassures her. 'And after consultation with the doctor and the Phthian Viceroy, I shall make an announcement to the crew.'

Nyota signs off, with a report that the Viceroy isn't answering hails. Spock orders her to keep trying, and takes half an hour to address the ship's business queued on Kirk's desk to make sure Dr McCoy has adequate time to examine his patient.

****

When he approaches medbay, Spock is startled to find Dr McCoy coming at speed towards him. The doctor bounces off Spock's chest, wrenches himself away from Spock's steadying hand, and runs down the corridor thumping a fist on the wall every few steps.

'Dammit, Jim!' Dr McCoy bellows. 'Get your butt back out here now!'

Spock's hearing is acute enough to pick up the sound of someone (Kirk, presumably) blowing what humans call 'a raspberry'. The muffled echo leads him to believe that the captain is inside a Jefferies tube.

'Dr McCoy,' Spock waits until the doctor looks up, then glances towards an access hatch. The doctor nods, and Spock lets himself into the tube.

Kirk is crouched beside a ladder, shoes missing and medical tricorder dangling in his hand. Spock scrapes a shoe against the floor when he's ten metres away and crouches down himself.

'I'm on a space ship, aren't I?' Kirk asks, tone calm. Spock expected him to startle at least a little, but it has been Kirk's apparent life mission to defy Spock's expectations and predictions.

'Constitution Class,' Spock says. 'Did the doctor do something which discomforted you?'

Kirk ignores the question, turning a piercing stare on Spock. 'Why am I on a Fleet ship? Did Walt finally give up and try to sell me to Orions?'

Spock feels his eyebrows pinch together. Kirk's idea of humour is not what Spock would consider appropriate, but he doesn't feel comfortable criticising the man as a child. 'You have been affected by unknown technology. Your body and mind have regressed some twenty-five years. I would greatly appreciate it if you would return to the medbay and let the doctor complete his examination... Jim.'

Kirk studies him, absently tapping the medical tricorder against his own knee. 'OK, then.'

Spock backs along the Jefferies Tube to the access hatch, takes a moment to shore up his shields, and extends a hand to assist Kirk's descent. Kirk pauses, gaze flicking between Spock's hand and his face, then his cool fingers close around Spock's and he jumps.

'Well,' Dr McCoy huffs. 'I mighta known you'd be a handful.'

He reaches out to grab Kirk's shoulder, and it's only through his physical contact that Spock notices the flinch of Kirk trying to pull away from the touch. Dr McCoy freezes, scowling down at Kirk, then takes a careful step backwards.

'Commander Spock,' the doctor says. 'Would you please take Jim in to see Nurse Chapel?'

Kirk still hasn't let Spock's fingers go, and while Spock cannot tell exactly what just happened, he does know that something did. 'Very well, Doctor.'

Kirk doesn't let go of Spock's fingers until Nurse Chapel hands him a sucrose block on a stick, dyed an unsettling red.

'I must return to my station,' Spock says, taking a moment to bow to Kirk, then he strides out. Dr McCoy is standing outside the iso chamber Nurse Chapel had taken Kirk into, arms folded and expression thunderous.

'Are you not going to continue your examination?' Spock asks, cocking his head to one side.

'I don't think that's such a good idea,' Dr McCoy half growls, half sighs. Spock doesn't understand why the doctor has decided that, and as he turns to head back to the bridge he can see Kirk's medical history scrolling across the doctor's tablet. There are wide sections of the captain's childhood history which are blocked, and it looks like an Earth court block. Curious, Spock makes a mental note to investigate at his earliest convenience.

If nothing else, he can assist the doctor in gaining access to Kirk's complete history.

****

'The Viceroy is standing by for you, sir,' Nyota reports when Spock resumes command. Her voice is pure professionalism, but Spock can read the at last in her face.

'On-screen, Lieutenant,' he settles himself in the captain's chair and watches the Phthian's grey furred face appear on screen. 'Viceroy Beitan. An explanation is required.'

'Commander Spock,' Viceroy Beitan salutes in the Vulcan fashion. 'We expected your team to attend the banquet-'

'What have you done to Captain Kirk?' Spock demands, placing his hands on the arms of the chair and lowering his chin a little to glare.

'Why,' Beitan's whiskers twitch in surprise. 'He has unresolved prr'itan. Holy Father Kirra acted as he would for any of our people.'

Spock glances at Nyota. She looks unhappy, fingers flying over her console. She sends the command display a precis of Phthian cultural mores, and sure enough prr'itan is highlighted as a core concept in their religion.

'Very well,' Spock straightens his shoulders. 'We will return to Phthia and you will undo-'

'Undo?' Beitan laughs. 'It cannot be undone until the prr'itan is resolved, but Captain Kirk is most welcome to return in his current form, along with any further representatives. The banquet has been postponed until tomorrow night after this unfortunate misunderstanding.'

At the navigation console, Ensign Chekov lets out an angry choked sound, hastily cut off when Lieutenant Sulu kicks him in the ankle. Spock ignores them and runs through a brief meditative technique. 'Are you claiming that the change wrought on the captain is impossible to reverse, or that you are merely unwilling to do so?'

'Oh, it's fully reversible, Commander!' Beitan grins. 'But it is entirely dependant on Captain Kirk working through his own prr'itan. There is nothing anyone else can do except support him.'

'Commander,' Nyota calls softly, and Spock turns to raise an eyebrow at her. 'I'm having no luck translating the concept of prr'itan.'

Spock tilts his head and nods. 'Viceroy Beitan, could you define this unresolved issue you believe the captain needs to work through?'

'I am not a linguist,' Beitan laughs again, leaning back in his chair. 'Nor am I a theologian. Perhaps someone at the monastery would be better to ask. If you'll wait a moment, my assistant will connect your communications officer.'

'Very well,' Spock folds his hands in his lap. 'We shall let you know whether any Enterprise crew will be in attendance tomorrow morning.'

Beitan gives Spock a wide, friendly smile and Nyota cuts the feed. Spock can hear her murmured conversation with the monastery’s representative. Trusting her to ascertain the relevant information and brief him, Spock issues a request for the doctor to meet him in the officers' lounge at ship's 1900 and turns his attention to routine business.

****

'I shouldn't be surprised Jim was such an adorable little shit,' Dr McCoy is saying to Nyota, glass of bourbon waving for emphasis when Spock enters the officers' lounge at 1858. 'Little punk stole a whole box of suckers when Christine wasn't looking, and we had to pull him out of cupboards and Jefferies tubes six times today.'

Nyota grins. 'I am zero per cent surprised at that, and I can't help but feel that's still too surprised. You know you love it.'

Dr McCoy's face goes through a bizarre series of expressions before settling into its usual irritated lines. 'I'm a doctor, not a babysitter, Uhura! Where's the hobgoblin to tell us when we can get Jim back to normal?'

'Here, doctor,' Spock moves silently behind the doctor, feeling a flash of satisfaction at the jerk that spills the doctor's bourbon. 'Lieutenant Uhura has informed me that the prr'itan the Phthians believe Captain Kirk to be suffering from is best translated as “soul pain”, usually resulting from a trauma of some sort. The age he regressed to is purported to be the age at which the worst of the trauma occurred, I had thought that with my assistance you could examine the captain's medical records and devise an approach for whatever traumatic injury he suffered. I expect, given the captain's predilection for risky behaviour that it will be some sort of “daredevil stunt” or climbing mishap-'

Dr McCoy shakes his head sharply. 'Spock, if we're talking about this, it needs to be in my office with the security activated. Odd the situation might be, but it still involves private medical records.'

Dr McCoy drops his glass in the recyc, gives Nyota a brief smile and sweeps out. Spock raises his parted fingers to Nyota and follows.

When they reach the doctor's office, Dr McCoy closes the door, keys up the maximum security setting and fetches a decanter of Romulan Ale from a hidden drawer in the wall.

'Under Federation law,' Spock observes, letting the doctor hand him a glass. 'I ought to have you thrown in the brig merely for possessing that, let alone consumption of alcohol before medical business.'

Dr McCoy snorts, tosses the contents of his own glass back, gets a refill and throws himself in his chair. 'I don't think even your Vulcan logic can stomach this without some insulation.'

Spock tilts his head. 'You believe you know the source of the captain's prr'itan.'

'Yeah, I do,' Dr McCoy sighs and rubs a hand over his face. 'Jim's juvenile medical records were sealed...'

Spock lowers himself into the chair across the desk. 'I was aware. Did you somehow circumvent the block?'

Dr McCoy glares at him briefly. 'Do you know why juvenile medical records get sealed?'

Spock shrugs. 'I assumed it was for injuries sustained during some under aged malfeasance. Something which might have a detrimental effect on his career.'

Dr McCoy huffs an unhappy laugh. 'OK, yes that would be a possibility, but it ain't the reason in this case,' he drains his glass. 'Jim never talked much to me about his home life. Mentioned his mother once or twice, and a brother a few times, but all his stories were about bar brawls or skinny dipping with what must've been every single person within five years of his age in the state. I always figured he just overdosed on everybody's expectations for him and just bulled his way into infamy to cope. I mean, even before all this, his test scores were... phew! Kid's got brains, not that he's got the common sense god gave a squirrel.'

Dr McCoy refills his glass again, but sets it to one side and stares at Spock. 'Jim's mother was Fleet and redeployed as soon as she was eligible. Her husband used to beat Jim, probably his brother too. Maybe worse, it's hard to tell from redacted medical files, but his reaction to adult human men leads me to believe the threat at least was there.'

Spock frowns. 'His primary carer used violence on him? Why would he? No civilised species should treat their young-'

'Some men are wrong inside,' Dr McCoy shakes with anger, gaze gone unfocussed. 'I don't understand how anyone could raise a hand to a child, but it happens. Worse, people sometimes refuse to believe the victim. Even blame them. Obviously it came out at some point, since the records got sealed, but I don't think Jim would've done too well in therapy. Whatever it is the Phthians saw, I'm sure it's related to his stepfather.'

Spock blinks down at the glass still in his hand. The idea of any adult intentionally causing harm to any child, let alone one in their direct care...

He surges to his feet, Romulan Ale splashing onto the floor when his hand jerks. 'I must meditate, Doctor.'

Dr McCoy gives him a weary look, something about the lighting and his expression making him look older than Sarek. 'Yeah,' he says. 'If you've got questions, I'm not sleeping tonight.'

Spock gives the doctor a nod and returns to his quarters as swiftly as is dignified. He keys the temperature a further five degrees up, to a comforting ShiKar Spring day and strips out of his uniform. The meditation lamp is next, incense curling out into Spock's face as he kneels and clears his mind of everything but the problem at hand.

Harm of a child was illogical, even by the standards of Humans.

Dr McCoy was appalled, but unsurprised by the revelation that Kirk was harmed by his carer.

Kirk would need guidance and protection until he could be restored to his true form.

Kirk had been comfortable in Spock's presence, but noticeably tense in the doctor's.

Conclusion: Captain Kirk would be most comfortable in Spock's care for the duration.

Corollary: Spock would need to delegate command to someone else in order to discharge this particular duty with due care.

Spock opens his eyes, mouth pursing in dissatisfaction. He is not sanguine about the idea of leaving the command of the Enterprise to a junior officer for an indeterminate period. He will have to interrogate the monks to discover the swiftest way to assist the captain's recovery, otherwise Starfleet will be deprived of its most effective commander.

Spock is not looking forward to making that report. It will be best if does not need to. Spock goes over to his desk and moves the pending communiqué out of the queue. He will hold off on reporting any of this for forty-eight hours, he decides. With any luck, a solution will have been found by then.

****

After careful consideration, Spock decides that the benefits of taking Kirk back to Phthia outweigh any potential harm. The damage, after all, has been done.

It seems a little overly formal to call a child by his adult rank, and Captain Kirk does not remember that he is Captain Kirk, so Spock determines to call him by his first name.

Only for the duration of their current dilemma, of course.

He meets the doctor, Nyota and... Jim in Transporter Room three at ship's 1700, mildly uncomfortable in his dress uniform and secretly amused at the doctor's obvious disdain for the gilt. Nyota is beautiful and regal in her red and gold, and Jim wears a child-sized version of his own dress uniform. His chest is puffed out a little, and when he sees Spock Jim struts across the room.

'I'm the captain,' Jim says, head tilted back to grin at Spock from two feet below his adult height.

'Indeed you are, sir,' Spock inclines his head. 'Jim, if you would move to the transporter, the Phthians are expecting us.'

Jim's smile dims a little, and he steps onto the transporter at the node furthest removed from the doctor. Dr McCoy's face makes one of its complicated journeys through anger, sorrow and fondness before settling on irritation.

Spock assumes his place and gives the order to energise.

Phthia is a temperate, M-Class world, well built up with only a scattering of forestry across the edge of the largest continent. Their capital city is clean and bright in a way that does not look like a hurried attempt to gain favour with the Federation representatives.

'Commander Spock!' Viceroy Beitan rushes forward, hands spread. 'Welcome! Welcome! Ah, I see Captain Kirk has not yet resolved his prr'itan, no matter! It often takes some time-'

Jim darts around Nyota to hide behind Spock's legs, hands fisting in Spock's tunic. It isn't quite skin contact, but Spock had not been prepared, so his mind opens to Jim's reflexively.

The most disquieting part of contact with the psi-null is the gaping void where Spock always expects to feel bonds. The absence of even a parental-carer bond makes him press a little closer before he can think, the scarred end of his bond with his own mother flaring with sympathetic pain.

All this happens before Dr McCoy can even open his mouth to call Jim away, but as Spock gathers his control and pulls back he is amazed to feel Jim's mind reaching for his. Even after two years of intimacy, Nyota had still shied away from mental contact; psi-null species often found mental contact uncomfortable or painful.

'Jim, I know they teach kids about xeno-cultural differences,' Dr McCoy says, a sort of jolly reproach in his tone. 'Don't you remember about Vulcans?'

'It is quite all right, doctor,' Spock says, placing a hand on Jim's uniformed shoulder. 'Viceroy Beitan, greetings.'

Beitan preens and sketches a hasty bow to the away team. 'Would you care for a brief tour before dinner? Your previous team did not get a chance to-'

'Understandably,' Dr McCoy grunts, then Spock detects the meaty thump of flesh being struck. Slanting his gaze towards the doctor, he sees Nyota's elbow drifting back to her side and from the polite smile and her apparent devoted attention to the Viceroy he can guess what just happened. Part of him pities the doctor; Nyota is very strong for a Terran and from experience Spock knows her elbows are quite sharp.

Beitan looks a little uncertain, but he smiles wider like the politician he is. 'Of course, the Prima has sent a most devoted acolyte to discuss your captain's situation, if any of your team require more detailed information?'

'Thank you, your eminence,' Spock lets one eyebrow drift up at Dr McCoy and the doctor nods at him. 'Dr McCoy does have some questions while we take advantage of your hospitality.'

A Phthian in a loose pair of bright yellow trousers steps forward to offer the arms-open local greeting, and Dr McCoy peels away from the group with a surreptitious brush over his comm badge to signal the Enterprise to record and monitor his conversation.

Jim leans a little into Spock's grip, so he leaves his hand where it is, saluting with his left. Nyota echoes the gesture, and after a moment so does Jim. He doesn't have the difficulty Spock has so often observed with non-Vulcans, and the flush of pleasure is surprising.

Beitan's whiskers quiver and he turns to lead them into the city.

****

The tour is a very pleasant example of the type, and just energetic enough to promote Spock's appetite for the banquet. Jim, being both human and juvenile, had flagged after the third temple, already exhausted from a full day's activity and without thinking Spock had picked him up. Jim's weight is negligible, and his exhausted thoughts are something of a soothing rumble against Spock's raised shields.

Nyota's frequent sidelong glances signal the necessity of a conversation later, but she will have to wait until they return to the ship.

The doctor rejoins them in the foyer of the Viceroy's mansion, expression troubled but no more so than is his custom. He brightens significantly at the sight of Jim's arms and legs curled around Spock, and from the glint in his eye Spock resigns himself to his foreseeable future containing unending teasing. He considers saying something, but Jim snuffles against his neck and the shape of his thoughts sharpens a little to consciousness.

'Hungry,' Jim sighs, scrubbing a fist into his ocular socket. 'I'm hungry, Spock.'

Spock pulls Jim away from his shoulder, sets him gently down on the floor. He resumes the contact point on Jim's shoulder, though, instead of pulling away completely. 'Do you wish to use the facilities beforehand?'

Jim's face screws up, but he glances at Nyota and hangs his head. 'Yes.'

Nyota steps forward to herd Jim in the direction one of the aides provides with firm hands. She will make someone a superb mother someday, Spock thinks with only a small pang. How his mother would have enjoyed knowing Nyota. How she would have complained of the lack of grandchildren, and knitted terrible and knobbly jumpers to send them in playful reproach.

Spock allows himself a few moments of melancholy as the doctor corners the viceroy to interrogate him on some point or other. He used to send his mother weekly messages to keep her from worrying, and mentally he still drafts them. It helps when he has a problem he feels the need to talk through, and it eases the pain of the broken bond a little. Nothing can truly soothe the edge of a bond broken by violent death, as all Vulcans sadly know now, but considering how his mother would respond to his frustrations with Jim and the way she would have laughed at the antics of Ensign Chekov and his frequently-explosive illicit still hidden behind one of the tertiary-backup comms relays provides Spock with some measure of comfort.

Dr McCoy drifts over to Spock's side after Viceroy Beitan's whiskers start pointing aggressively forward. 'Any cultural hoo-ha I need to be reminded of?'

'That depends entirely on what you recall from the briefing, doctor,' Spock says, grateful to be dragged out of his memories. 'I cannot tell what you need reminding of without some knowledge of what you expect to have to do.'

Dr McCoy growls, Klingon-like under his breath. 'Green-blooded bastard. I read the damn briefing, but I've been a little preoccupied with Jim! Do I need to spin in circles and throw a flower? Kowtow to a giant bunny rabbit? Twerk?'

'Really, doctor,' Spock half turns to raise an eyebrow at him, relishing the way the doctor's eyes narrow. 'I don't know why the captain considers you suitable for diplomatic missions.'

'If he didn't have the gift of being able to start a punch up with a Vulcan,' Dr McCoy mutters with a significant look. 'He'd never take me on these damn things. But Jim needs sewing up more often than a luchidor's mask in contest season, so he's got no choice.'

Spock cannot contest the accuracy, and does not want to, and is saved from having to by Nyota and Jim's return. The viceroy nods to an aide, and the doors to the dining room are thrown open.

The room is massive, ceiling at least ten metres high, and the table in the centre is a vast horseshoe. Spock counts forty seven seats ringing the outside edge of the table, and the remainder of the guests seem to be gathered around an indoor fountain at the far end of the hall. As they approach the open mouth of the horseshoe, a musical trill echoes through the space. The group by the fountain turns immediately and assumes positions behind the chairs. Spock cannot see any labelling, but there is no jockeying for position; clearly the seating is assigned somehow.

Thankfully, there are five chairs at the midpoint of the horseshoe left unclaimed, so Spock deduces the Phthians acknowledge the inadvisability of attempting to divide the Enterprise contingent. Spock follows Beitan, who claims the central chair, and herds Jim between the Viceroy and himself. Nyota and the Doctor settle on the Viceroy's other side.

Another trill sounds, this one half an octave higher and the Phthians slide into their seats. Spock and his team follow suit, and servers stream into the hall bearing trays of glasses.

'I ran a scan on everything in the kitchen,' Dr McCoy says, voice pitched for Nyota and for Spock's better hearing. 'It's all edible, and nothing likely to trigger Jim's allergies.'

Spock leans forward just far enough to give the doctor an acknowledging nod. Beside him, Jim is fidgeting already, shoulders hunching a little and a scowl deepening on his face. Before he can give vent to whatever is bothering him, a female Phthian server sets a tall glass of something in layered pink and green stripes.

'Jennek and Friz for you,' she wiggles her head and grins. 'My boys can't get enough of it.'

Jim considers her for a moment, then the charming grin his adult self flashes at every halfway-attractive being they encounter bursts like a ray of sunshine on his face. He wiggles his own head at the server and says 'I'm sure I'll love it, babe.'

The server laughs and darts a hand forward to brush it across Jim's cheek, then she returns to her duties. The glasses in front of the rest of the assembly are a different shape; conical, and filled with a carbonated red fluid which smells strongly of kale to Spock. He watches as Jim and the doctor take equally cautious sips of their drinks. Jim's expression turns delighted, but the doctor grimaces, and Spock catches a mutter of 'damn grass-flavoured bullshit, shoulda brought my flask.'

As is apparently universal, the advent of dinner is delayed by thirty-eight minutes of speeches and toasts, though the Jennek and Friz server drifts past Jim several times to surreptitiously pass him pastry-wrapped root vegetable morsels. The haste with which Jim devours them gives Spock a momentary pang of alarm, but Dr McCoy rolls his eyes at Spock's look. Since the man is both a father and a doctor, Spock resolves to take his lead and let Jim abandon manners and sense for the moment.

The dinner is reminiscent of the annual Officers' Ball in terms of number and variety of courses, and despite the Phthians' feline appearance they have no trouble providing Spock with vegetarian options. The evening drags on for several hours, the occasional break in service used for dancing, and Spock is fascinated to see how eagerly Jim is included. He watches Jim learn the forms from a series of Phthian females, marvels at the way they all coo at him.

'He's revoltingly charming as a kid,' Nyota remarks, taking Jim's abandoned chair. 'Even more so than he usually is.'

'Assuming this is indeed reversible,' Spock murmurs to her. 'Perhaps it will turn out to be beneficial in the long term. The Phthians do seem to be responding favourably to the captain's version of diplomacy.'

Dr McCoy snorts and leans over the back of Nyota's chair. 'Giant blue eyes and blond hair. Shoulda known it was a universal cheat code.'

Nyota laughs and swats at the doctor's forearm. 'At least you know he's not going to ruin diplomatic relations by sleeping with someone's daughter this time.'

'Well, there is that,' Dr McCoy huffs. 'Oh, I think the Federation's newest secret weapon's getting a little cranky.'

Spock looks over to where Jim is visibly sagging against his dance partner, forehead bunched up and lower lip edging out. It has been a long day; even Spock is feeling a little tired.

Spock stands, quirks an eyebrow at his shipmates and goes to collect Jim before he disrupts the celebrations with an emotional outburst.

Jim's current dance partner laughs good-naturedly and brushes her hand across Jim's cheek before handing him over. 'Thank you for the dance, captain.'

Jim mumbles something, but he's already got his face pressed into Spock's stomach. Spock opens his mouth to make Jim's excuses for him, but the female shakes her whiskers. She brushes a hand over Jim's hair, then turns to seek out another partner.

Spock stoops to gather Jim up again, and Dr McCoy and Nyota join him at the edge of the dance floor. 'I should go to the Viceroy-'

'Already done, Spock,' Nyota smiles at him, then gives Jim's position a pensive look. 'He's expecting contact tomorrow, and sent his warmest regards and told us to get the young captain to bed.'

When Spock glances back towards the table, Viceroy Beitan is indeed smiling benevolently and circling his hands in the farewell gesture Phthians employ.

'Very well,' Spock signals the Enterprise to beam the away team up, cradling Jim's body carefully to his chest.

****

After careful consideration, Spock decided that it would be best not to remove Jim from his quarters, and had his own mattress relocated to the captain's living room. It's pushed against the couch, leaving only a very narrow passage for Spock to carry Jim through to his bedroom. He doesn't bother with the lights; Vulcan night vision is far superior to human, and Jim is already asleep.

He settles Jim on the bed, pulls Jim's shoes off and undoes the outer tunic, then slides the covers over him. Jim’s hand tangles in Spock's tunic, and he makes an unhappy noise when Spock tries to pull away. Spock very carefully broadcasts calm and protective thoughts towards Jim, and he sighs before slipping into a deeper sleep.

Spock retreats to the outer room, sheds his own dress uniform in favour of Starfleet-issue sleeping attire and sits on his mattress.

He doesn't sleep that night, but neither does Jim wake from nightmares.

****

The Enterprise has a fantastic crew, and absent any emergency Spock trusts them absolutely with the day-to-day running of the ship. Spock's first concern has to be to get Jim through or past his prr'itan, so after Jim's woken and dressed, Spock takes him to the commissary for breakfast.

Dr McCoy might not be able to credit it, but Spock is perfectly able to talk to humans about their emotions. His mother, after all, was exceptionally human and he loved her deeply. So after collecting some horrendous sugary cereal for Jim and mocha and a salad for himself, Spock leads Jim to the private booth in the far corner.

'How do you feel today, Jim?' he asks, watching in some fascination as Jim adds yet more sugar to his bowl and starts shovelling overladen spoonfuls into his mouth.

'M good,' Jim manages, only lightly spraying the table with food. 'Had nice dreams. Can I try that?'

Spock blinks down at his mocha, weighs up the potential horror of the effect a stimulant might have on an already energetic child against the likelihood of Jim disliking the beverage, and silently pushes the mug over.

Jim takes a large mouthful, expression turning hurriedly distressed and he spits it back into the mug. 'Eew,' he paws at his tongue, apparently trying to scrape the flavour away. 'That's gross.'

'And now I need to get a replacement,' Spock says with a note of dry reproach which usually makes Jim roar with laughter. This time, Jim's face freezes and he hunches in on himself.

'I'm sorry,' he says, darting a quick look at Spock's face before sliding out of his seat. 'I'll get it! I'm sorry, Spock!'

Before Spock can formulate a response, Jim has grabbed the mocha and darted across the commissary towards the replicator. One of the privates on duty keys the order in for him, and Jim hurries back with a worried expression and a fresh mug. He pushes the mocha towards Spock and retreats into the far side of the booth, pressing hard against the wall and trembling slightly.

'Jim,' Spock says, horrified at the effect his words and tone have had. 'I would never hurt you. Certainly not for something as trivial as a cup of tea.'

Jim's expression pulls into something sceptical, and he suddenly looks a lot older than seven. 'Yeah, OK.'

Spock folds his hands around the mug and makes a conscious effort to make his body language as unthreatening as he can. 'Jim, I will not harm you, nor will I allow harm to come to you. I can open my mind to you if you desire proof.'

Spock lays his hand palm-up on the table and waits. Jim's hand creeps forward to brush against Spock's fingertips. Spock keeps his shields down and his hand still, and projects his sincerity and concern as loudly as possible. After two-point-seven minutes, Jim's fingers close more firmly on Spock's and Spock feels Jim's mind reaching for his.

Once again, Jim rushes towards Spock eagerly; a little too enthusiastically, really, so Spock has to catch him gently and arrest his momentum. Spock brings his regard for his captain to the surface of the connection, laces some moments from his own childhood into the projection, especially his mother's calm and loving hands. He makes himself reveal his deep respect for Jim, his terror the last time Jim had landed himself in the infirmary and his recovery had been far from assured, the warm surge of protective impulse Jim's current appearance inspires in him. Jim's mind brightens by degrees, and Spock feels a return surge of protective respect along their point of contact.

'Will you share your pain with me?' Spock projects along the link. 'You are hurting and it pains me to see you in pain.'

Jim hesitates for a moment, then pulls back. Spock suppresses his dismay, but Jim is already clambering over the table to huddle against Spock's side, arms snaking around Spock's waist in a fierce hug. The connection stabilises, and Jim's own shields, such as they are, come tumbling down. Spock has enough experience with melds not to be swept away in the torrent of images and feelings, but from someone so young it is a startlingly powerful surge. He spares a moment to rue the absence of a properly-trained healer on board, and turns his attention to sorting through Jim's pain.

Spock crouches away from Walt time after time, but cannot keep from making remarks to goad the man. He feels Jim's sour satisfaction and fear and pain with every blow his stepfather throws. Feels the dragging, heavy weight of guilt at not being good enough to make his mother stay, at being a bad boy who deserves this.

Spock watches while Jim learns how to build a basic dermal regenerator after Walt starts using his belt (his belt, Spock has to clamp down on the swell of rage), learns how to hide the marks he can't heal and learns how to keep up a front of obnoxious good humour to keep people from looking too closely.

Spock crowds up against Jim as Walt delivers the blows which result in the man's incarceration and Jim's record being sealed, taking the remembered pain and pushing love and acceptance towards Jim in their place.

'You were not at fault,' Spock tells Jim, folding his mind in layers of comfort and love. 'There was nothing you could do except what you did. The very fact that you survived this and became the captain I know and respect makes my awe of you increase exponentially.'

Jim's mind trembles, pressing closer to Spock's, and he releases a wave of shock and pain which has been festering in his subconscious for decades. Spock concentrates on gently pulling the tendrils of pain and self-blame out of Jim's katra while Jim is distracted by his catharsis. Every ugly curve of poison Spock draws out lightens Jim's mind, and softens the tremors running through Jim's physical and psychic selves.

When the last of the pain is gone, Spock starts to pull the contact back. There is always a risk with the psi-null that a bond will form through inexperience and lack of understanding the risks, and the longer two minds are in contact, the greater the risk.

When he pulls back into his physical body, Spock notes the chill of moisture soaking through his tunic. Jim buries his face in Spock's chest harder, arms tightening as he sobs through the last of his reaction. Spock finds his hand rubbing in circles on Jim's back, echoing the motion his mother used to use when he was ill as a child.

He holds Jim, continuing the massage until Jim's breathing settles into regularity. Jim heaves a sigh, then goes rigid under Spock's hand. Spock pulls back, hand moving towards his comm to summon medical assistance, and Jim shudders, then starts to grow.

'Dr McCoy to the commissary!' Spock orders, letting his hands still as Jim shudders and stretches. After three point five minutes, Jim falls still again, but he has not reached his adult size. Spock estimates he's put on approximately 42 centimetres in height, but he hasn't put on nearly enough mass for his new size. His previously loose clothing has split along its seams, and the skin showing is stretched tight against Jim's skeleton.

Dr McCoy comes running into the commissary, flanked by Nurse Chapel and he drags Spock out of the booth by the biceps. The doctor runs his tricorder along Jim's body, face set in grim lines as he snaps out commands to Nurse Chapel for hyposprays and preparations to be made.

Jim tries to pull away from the doctor, a scattering of acne across his cheeks telling Spock that he has at least reached puberty. 'Gerroff! I didn't do anything!'

Dr McCoy's face pulls into the expression Jim calls “bitchface”, and he slaps a hypospray against Jim's neck with the same unnecessary violence he uses on adult Jim. 'You're showing signs of malnourishment, Jim, God knows why. I'm going to get your readings normalised before we go yell at the damn cat people downstairs. Now sit still and shut up!'

With bad grace, Jim stops struggling and busies himself glaring at the table while Dr McCoy loads and reloads his hypospray, runs his tricorder over Jim and makes a series of progressively less-irritated noises. Spock, after satisfying himself that Jim is in no immediate danger of anything more serious than a bruise on his neck, excuses himself to go contact Viceroy Beitan.

****

'This has never happened before, commander,' Beitan says with a concerned frown. 'I have never heard of the resolution stalling like that!'

Spock folds his hands at the small of his back. 'Do you have an authority on prr'itan we might consult? Starfleet is quite anxious to have Captain Kirk restored.'

After a moment of nervous preening, Beitan enters something on his terminal and the feed goes into holding.

'We're being transferred, sir,' Nyota says before Spock can ask. 'Looks like it's to a screen at the university.'

A grizzled, irritated Phthian's face appears on the screen. 'Yes? What is it?'

Spock raises an eyebrow. 'This is Commander Spock of the USS Enterprise. Viceroy Beitan seems to think you might be able to assist with a prr'itan problem we are experiencing.'

The Phthian growls under her breath and shuffles some flimsies around. 'Professor Hrithir, head of the School of Religious Studies. If that young upstart thinks he can foist all the introductory nonsense off on me-'

'Our captain resolved his prr'itan, but did not reach his true age,' Spock cuts in before Hrithir can get into full offended-academician stride. 'He aged approximately seven years, leaving him an adolescent. Viceroy Beitan thought you might have some insight as to why.'

'Hrmph,' Hrithir looks even more disgruntled at having her tirade derailed. 'Well. That is unusual. But not unheard of.'

A little of the tension in Spock's shoulders eases at that; it is unlikely to be some catastrophic reaction of the Phthians' technology with human physiology, then.

'Yes,' Hrithir nods. 'Your captain merely has another prr'itan to be resolved. Which any halfway intelligent first-year should have been able to deduce.'

Hrithir cuts the feed without a farewell, and the screen reverts to its usual view.

'Reminded me of my grandmother,' Sulu mutters to Chekov, and Chekov laughs.

'She reminded me of my third-grade teacher,' Chekov nudges Sulu's knee with his own. 'Nice to see we're not that different, nyet?'

'I could stand to be a little more different,' Sulu returns. 'One Obaa-Kyoko is more than enough for this universe.'

Spock hands command over to Sulu as soon as the two of them have settled down, and heads to medbay.

****

Jim is sitting cross-legged in his underpants on one of the iso-beds, glaring at the wall when Spock walks in. He glances towards Spock, then quickly away and starts picking at the fabric of the mattress.

'Had to hide his clothes to stop him shooting down the Jefferies tubes again,' Dr McCoy says, wandering over with two mugs of green tea. 'Luckily he's right at the awkward age where embarrassment's enough to stop him running around in the nude. It'd never work on our Jim.'

Spock considers it, and yes. Captain Kirk would grin and march through the Romulan senate completely naked if he thought it necessary. 'Apparently Jim must have another trauma centred on this age.'

Dr McCoy sighs into his tea, the lines of his face etched more deeply than usual. 'Yeah, I'd guessed it might be that. Spock...'

Spock takes one look at the doctor's face and leads him into his office. 'His stepfather beat him. There was no sexual abuse.'

The doctor sags against the wall and rubs a hand over his face. 'Oh thank God.'

Spock turns away to give him a modicum of privacy and watches Jim through the window. He's hunched over, darting glances towards the door every thirty seconds. Spock can see every rib, every vertebra in clear relief. Whatever happened to Jim in his adolescence, it stripped him of any excess weight.

'I went through his records again,' Dr McCoy hands Spock a padd. 'It's all normal kid stuff after the trial until he's fourteen. Then it's been wiped clean. Not even the booster shots I know he kept up to date. And normal again from when he was seventeen and broke his collarbone and three fingers in a brawl.'

Spock examines the records. There is a definite space where something has been removed, but the most Spock can tell on the padd is that it was a sizeable document. 'I will see what I can do to retrieve it, doctor. If you will forward your access request to my personal account I should be able to recover the missing data.'

'Already done,' Dr McCoy drops into his desk chair and groans. 'Join Starfleet. See the galaxy. Why didn't I go raise chickens with my uncle?'

'I do not know,' Spock says, heading for the door to start on the recovery. 'Perhaps the chickens would have better appreciated your attempts at humour.'

There's a clatter as the doctor throws something at the wall, muttering imprecations against “green-blooded hobgoblins”, and Spock returns to his quarters to uncover whatever it is Jim went through as a teenager.

****

Three hours later, Spock is forced to concede defeat. The coding bears Jim's distinctive flair, and is rather less sophisticated than the work he did on the Kobayashi Maru but it is thorough. Thirteen months of Jim's medical history hacked out of the records with blunt force rather than the artistic flair Spock is used to seeing from the captain. But unsophisticated or not, Jim successfully removed every trace of whatever he went through.

Allowing himself a frustrated sigh, Spock calls up the registry of Fleet postings, enters Winona Kirk's name and starts composing a communiqué requesting information. The Selkirk is currently deployed at New Vulcan, so Spock estimates it should be no longer than sixty hours before he gets a reply.

****

Spock had thought that Captain Kirk was at saturation point for human sex hormones. Apparently, as an adolescent he put even his adult self to shame for shameless flirting and crude suggestions. Dr McCoy lasted all of twelve hours before locking himself in his office with an explosion which scuttlebutt had reported as a tearful complaint of sexual harassment.

Spock rather doubts there were tears involved, but given some of the suggestions he's overheard Jim making and the infrequent salacious grins Jim has directed at him, he's prepared to accept the harassment charge.

Unsettling as Jim's approaches are from someone who ought to be enrolled in secondary-tier education, his emaciated form leads Spock to hypothesise that Jim is trying desperately to ingratiate himself with an adult for protection, though there is a definite undercurrent of pleasure at the discomfort his actions prompt. Whatever this prr'itan is, there is obviously an element of starvation. Perhaps he ran away, since he did not resolve his anger and the betrayal of his carer?

Spock's mother used to tell him stories from Earth about children running away for adventure; it seems entirely possible Jim would have heard similar stories and decided to re-enact them.

Spock has retained his self-appointed position of carer, left his mattress in Jim's quarters, though he has not utilised it in the past two diurnal cycles. When he does enter Jim's quarters at ship's 1600 thirty-two hours after the resolution of the first prr'itan, he detects low swearing and frantic rustling in the captain's bedroom.

'Jim?' he calls, familiar enough with the habits of pubescent beings not to want to enter a private room unannounced. 'Is there something you need?'

Jim appears in the doorway, red-faced and twitching like a cat. 'Nope! Not unless you wanna spend a little time broadening those Vulcan horizons.'

Spock levels an impassive stare as Jim awkwardly tries to arrange himself seductively against the door frame. Yes, the likelihood of this being behaviour Jim truly engaged in is minimal; Spock can feel the tension radiating from Jim's katra. The fledgling connection they formed during that breakfast has left him... open to Jim's mind, though Spock made certain not to effect a bonding of any sort.

'I do not believe that would be an appropriate use of my time,' Spock says after Jim's stopped trying to imitate an Orion dancer. 'I wish to talk to you about what is troubling you-'

'Go to hell,' Jim snarls, shoving at Spock's chest and he runs to the door. 'You don't get to ask me those things! I hate you!'

Spock can hear Jim's footsteps carry down the hall, then the clang of an access point to a Jefferies tube being wrenched open with unnecessary force. Extrapolating from his own behaviour during his adolescence, Spock expects that letting Jim have privacy and time will be the most effective method of resolving whatever the underlying issue is.

There is still the matter of the rustling. Spock deliberates for point seven five minutes before proceeding into Jim's bedroom to investigate. Nothing appears misaligned, but the mattress is sitting five centimetres higher than it ought to. When Spock lifts it to investigate, there are several dozen combat ration packs carefully arranged to provide an even surface.

Spock picks up one of the ration packs to examine the serial number. They're from the secondary stores down near engineering; not an area that should be accessible to a fourteen year old, regardless of his adult identity.

'Dr McCoy to the captain's quarters,' Spock orders, turning the condensed nutrition slab over and over. Beside the theft of Starfleet rations, Spock is certain that hoarding food is an unfortunate sign.

****

Dr McCoy's mouth pulls into even unhappier lines than usual when Spock shows him Jim's larder.

'You haven't figured it out yet?' Dr McCoy asks, picking up his own ration pack before dropping it with a huff. 'No clues in the matrix?'

For once, Spock ignores the cultural reference meant to elicit confusion. 'I contacted Commander Kirk on the Selkirk. I expect a response within-'

'Message for you, sir,' Nyota interrupts over comms. 'A recording from the Selkirk? It's marked priority beta.'

'Thank you Lieutenant,' Spock raises an eyebrow at the doctor. 'I shall take it in the captain's quarters.'

'Piping it through,' Nyota signs off and the screen on Jim's desk flashes the message light.

Commander Kirk has aged less gracefully than Spock's mother had; deep lines on her face, and a noticeable weight gain from the years after the Nerada's first attack. Her hair is cropped close to her head and her uniform bears the signs of a full shift already served.

'Commander Spock,' she says, folding her hands on the desk and staring into the camera. 'Thank you for letting me know about Jim's... most recent adventure, usually I have to rely on scuttlebutt and unfortunate photos on newsfeeds to find out what he's been up to.'

Dr McCoy makes an undignified noise.

'As to what the trauma was when he was fourteen...' she breaks off, turns to look away as her jaw tightens. It takes a few moments for Kirk to get herself under control, then she says 'Jim was on Tarsus IV.'

The message cuts off abruptly, Starfleet logo taking its standard place on the monitor.

'Sweet baby Jesus...' Dr McCoy whispers, stumbling over to the desk chair and dropping heavily into it. 'How could that not be in his file?!'

'He did an exceedingly thorough job of eradicating all data in his file surrounding the incident,' Spock says, and he turns to pace the length of the room. 'I could understand if he had run away from home or been convicted of vandalism, but why would he erase evidence of his survival of a massacre? Surely Terrans did not place any blame on the victims?'

'No, but we tend to swarm all over survivors,' Dr McCoy sighs. 'I wouldn't blame him for hacking his name off the list the damn tabloid reporters had access to, but it should've been in his Fleet file.'

Spock wants to express his disgust at the Terran philosophy of entitlement to others' pain, but before he can his comms go off. 'Commander Spock!'

'Yes, Lieutenant?' Spock responds.

'The captain seems to have hot wired the Galileo,' Sulu reports, and Spock can hear Chekov cursing the failure of the tractor beam in the background. 'He's disabled the tractor beam as well, and Mr Scott says the shields are preventing a transporter lock.'

'On my way,' Spock runs for the turbolift, Dr McCoy on his heels.

****

'I'll have it working in five minutes!' Mr Scott yells when Spock and the doctor reach the bridge. 'The little bastard rewired the whole damn interface!'

'Long range sensors are down too, sir,' Chekov reports. 'It looks like Captain initiated a diagnostic. They will be fully functional in three minutes, but Galileo is already beyond our sensors.'

Spock nods and turns to Sulu.

'He's not flown a shuttlecraft before,' Sulu says, ceding the command chair and returning to the helm. 'There'll be an impulse trail a mile wide once we've got all the gremlins out, and luckily Mr Scott says his warp engine's been disconnected for maintenance.'

'Very well,' Spock places his hands on the arm rests and carefully does not clench his fists. 'As soon as Mr Scott gives the word, take us after him, Mr Sulu.'

The bridge crew all go about their repairs with commendable speed, and Spock turns to the doctor.

'Doctor,' he murmurs. 'I need you to pull any pertinent research about the survivors of massacres, with particular reference to Tarsus IV. Anything we can use to help Jim.'

Dr McCoy nods and heads to one of the unmanned secure consoles to begin. Spock glances towards Nyota, and finds he cannot maintain eye contact with her concerned frown. He turns his attention to the short range sensor data and starts analysing the impulse trail. It's a little uneven, but there are no troubling variances which could indicate engine trouble. It is just the lack of precision common to inexperienced pilots. It will be simple enough to follow it; the only concern is catching up with Jim before he runs into trouble.

The whine of the engines starting up interrupts Spock's train of thought, and Chekov whoops in victory.

'Bearing one-nine-seven point three by two-oh-two. Trail leads to the moon of the fifth planet,' Chekov taps a few keys. 'Nitrogen-oxygen atmosphere, temperature in the low tens. No indication of emergency landing, sir. Laying course in.'

It takes just under ten minutes to establish a geostationary orbit over the Galileo. Its engines are shut down, and a brief surface scan shows the lone humanoid life form on the moon halfway up a cliff a kilometre away from the landing site. Spock ignores the doctor's cry of 'dammit, Jim!' and hands command back to Sulu.

'I think it best if I beam down alone,' he takes the five steps to the turbolift. 'Doctor, if you would?'

Dr McCoy throws another glare towards the display showing Jim risking limb if not life and joins Spock. 'I found a few studies on the Tarsus survivors,' he says when the doors close. 'Records of therapy, accounts of what it was like that never made it into the press.'

He hands Spock a padd, and Spock scans the precis the computer prepared. 'Very good, doctor. Please stand by in case your services are required.'

Dr McCoy throws his arms up as they reach the transporter and Spock retrieves a tricorder from the Ensign behind the controls. 'What, you think I got nothing better to do with my time than run around after that overgrown frat boy? Fine, I'll keep Ensign L'Wann here company until he falls off the damn cliff and I have to rebuild his damn spine.'

Spock motions for Ensign L'Wann to energise as the doctor continues ranting about the myriad other concerns he should be attending to, and then finds himself shivering in the chill of the moon's wind. He scans the area and walks briskly towards the cliff Jim is free-climbing. It appears to be seven metres tall, which is easily high enough to damage a human, should Jim fall.

He reaches the cliff just as Jim reaches the top. Jim gets to his feet and turns, scrubbing a hand across his forehead. He catches sight of Spock and shouts 'I don't want to talk to you!'

Spock considers his options, then gives Jim a bow and turns his attention to going through the doctor's research more thoroughly. He keeps a portion of his attention on Jim, though: Spock wants to ensure that he is ready to assist if necessary, and he scrolls through the psychological recommendations first.

Jim remains stubbornly at the top of the cliff for forty-two minutes, necessitating Spock reporting in to Nyota twice to reassure the crew that there is no need for reinforcements. Halfway through the forty-third minute, Jim heaves a sign and starts retracing his path down the cliff. Spock climbs to his feet and moves below Jim with the intent of cushioning his fall if needed, but Jim does not slip even once.

'You're really stubborn, y'know' Jim says, dusting his hands on his trousers and staring off to one side.

Spock considers this. 'It is a feature of my personality which has been noted previously.'

Jim laughs and frowns at his feet. He shuffles a little, darting quick looks at Spock but always averting his gaze before Spock can react. 'I'm sorry I screwed up the ship. And stole the shuttle.'

Spock looks back at the padd, eyes catching on the phrase unfounded guilt associated with survival before he thumbs the power off.

'Mr Scott does worse on a weekly basis,' he says with a shrug. 'I believe he is secretly pleased for the excuse to strip another system to ensure everything is functioning correctly.'

Jim shuffles a little closer, until his body heat provides a welcome relief from the chill of the air. Spock keeps his body language neutral and his eyes pointed towards the horizon. He must let Jim choose the level of contact.

'I know what happened to me,' Jim says after a brief pause. 'I remember the announcements and the guards at Aunt Bess's house. But I also remember you. In my mind, and I know you weren't there for real.'

Jim's hand slips into Spock's, and the connection flares a little even though Spock does not reach out.

'I'm scared,' Jim continues, and when Spock looks at him there are tear tracks on his cheeks.

'Scared of what?' Spock turns so they're facing each other, doesn't release Jim's hand.

Jim laughs again, still looking away. 'Scared you'll hate me. Scared I'll die. Scared I shoulda died, cuz at least Aunt Bess wasn't screwed up like I am.'

'Jim-' Spock tries, and he can hear the crack in his own voice. 'I could never hate you. I asked you once before if you would let me share your pain; will you do so again?'

Jim's fingers tighten spasmodically, and he flushes. 'I don't believe you. When you see what I did to survive... when you see who died in my place, you'll wanna leave me on this rock,' he offers a brittle smile. 'I wouldn't blame you.'

Spock has never been adept at comfort. Rather than try and use the foreign language of platitudes, he reaches for Jim's other hand and opens his mind without reaching for Jim's. He makes his entire being radiate acceptance and protection and love and waits patiently for Jim's response.

Time is hard to gauge in the meld, but after a relatively short wait Jim's mind creeps towards Spock's. He remains receptive to the contact, but there is a hesitation that was not present in the juvenile Jim. Spock does not allow himself to reach out; just continues to radiate his unwavering devotion to his captain.

Jim reaches out, every thought telegraphing his readiness to flee at the first sign of the expected rejection, and Spock encounters the first memories of Tarsus IV.

He knew what happened from newsfeeds and terse conversations with Sarek; studied the lead-up and fallout of the massacre as an undergraduate. Wrote a paper on the events for a philosophy of government class. The reality of the experience is still shocking.

It's more of a confused morass of sensations than Jim's abuse at the hands of his stepfather. It's similar to a few of the video games his first year room mate used to play; all screaming and confused visuals, but with the sour tang of Jim's guilt and horror layered over it. The guilt seems to be mostly over a tangled sense of relief at his continued survival and self-pity and grief for his loss, with anger and helplessness and biting hunger complicating everything.

Spock sees Jim scavenging for food from houses whose occupants have lost Kolos's lottery; feels him making and dismissing plans to throw himself on one of Kolos's guards when they patrol the streets; watches Jim staring dry-eyed at his aunt's house since there was no grave. He feels the gnawing hunger when Jim starts slipping his own quarter ration to a rotating selection of children, certain that they deserve the chance more than he does.

'You were not at fault,' Spock projects, welcoming Jim's mind deeper into his own. 'You saved a number of those lives by denying yourself. Your guilt is unwarranted.'

Jim's mind shakes, desperation to believe and denial and self-loathing warring. Spock starts loosening the hold of those destructive thoughts, wrapping each open wound with layers of support and acceptance as he pulls the poison out.

It takes longer than the first purging; partly because Jim holds onto this pain more fiercely, but after an exhausting struggle, the last of the darkness is discarded. Spock sends another wave of love towards Jim, then pulls back as the trembling starts.

He keeps his eyes on Jim this time, no longer worried that he has done lasting psychological damage with the meld. It is a strange sight; Jim grows in stages, his entire being blurring before resolving into himself aged approximately seventeen, twenty, the twenty-seven year old ensign who hacked the Kobayashi Maru, then Jim is at his true age. Though in torn clothing again.

'Whoa,' Jim raises a hand to his head, and Spock fails to let go quickly enough. 'Uh... holding hands now?'

Spock takes a step back. 'J- Captain, welcome back. I-'

'Wait,' Jim closes his eyes tight, head jerking to the left as it does when a headache strikes. 'No, I remember.'

Spock turns away to give Jim whatever privacy he can. 'I can signal for beaming, sir, since your attire is not exactly ideal for the weather.'

Jim looks down at himself, apparently surprised to see so much skin and torn fabric. 'Ha!' he grins up at Spock. 'Guess you've never gone skinny dipping in July? Nah, the walk back to the Galileo'll be enough to warm me up. Besides, seems a little rough to send some poor security officer down to retrieve my joyride.'

Spock bows and motions for Jim to lead the way.

****

The return flight was rather more awkward than Spock was used to these days; Jim remained quiet and preoccupied until they docked and Dr McCoy dragged him away with slightly-overdone criticisms and cranky bonhomie revealing his relief.

Spock stares after the two of them and lets himself admit in the privacy of his own head to envy of their easy camaraderie. The shared culture and long-standing friendship provide a connection Spock cannot hope to equal; a fact which he never expected to cause any angst.

Spock stows his tricorder in the equipment cupboard, takes a minute to relieve himself to justify using the sonics to warm his hands again and returns to the bridge.

The mood on the bridge is wildly ecstatic; Chekov is singing with Sulu, much to Nyota's displeasure at their off-key warbling, and the weight of concern which has been present since the away team first returned has finally lifted. Spock raises an eyebrow at Chekov until the ensign's song peters out and orders a return course laid in to Phthia.

Even his most severe attitude is not enough to dampen spirits, and halfway to their destination Chekov starts whistling. Spock lets himself smile at Nyota when everyone else is occupied.

****

'I am most gratified to see you restored to yourself, captain,' Viceroy Beitan beams on the screen. 'And Phthia offers its most sincere apologies for not explaining before-'

'It's... fine,' Jim says with an introspective smile. 'But I feel it would be diplomatic to request permission before performing the service for future visitors. It was quite... disconcerting, especially for the crew.'

Spock watches Jim in the reflection on his station, studies the minutely-straightened shoulders and more thorough relaxation present in the captain's body language now. The tension was not noticeable before, but he is definitely more centred now. His smile is even quicker, and the faint hint of bitterness has vanished entirely.

'Of course,' Beitan bows. 'Will you be able to join us for a celebratory dinner before you leave? Many members of the Council expressed a desire to meet you freshly m'whiir to offer their congratulations.'

Jim laughs and glances towards Spock. Spock turns to raise his eyebrows, and Jim says 'Certainly, Viceroy. We would be honoured.'

'Until tonight, then,' Beitan signs off, and Jim collapses back in his chair.

It's at the end of Alpha shift, Beta shift trickling in to take over stations, so Spock hands over to Yeoman Rand and steps up to the captain's chair.

'Sir,' he says, folding his hands behind his back. 'I have yet to submit my report of the last week. Have you any objections to substituting Lieutenant Sulu or Ensign Chekov for my presence at the dinner?'

Jim turns to smile at him, hand coming up to make contact with Spock's shoulder before pulling back at the last moment. 'Of course not, Mr Spock. You certainly deserve a break after all this, and five hours of Phthian dancing and speeches doesn't sound like your cup of tea.'

Spock inclines his head and excuses himself to the turbolift as Jim finishes handing over to Lieutenant Gor. Jim signals him to hold the lift, so Spock waits until Jim rushes in to give the command for crew quarters.

Jim waits until the lift is moving before he turns to Spock. 'Thank you,' he says, voice and gaze steady. 'The time I was... regressed is a little vague and fuzzy, but I remember you being there the whole time. I can still feel your mind, echoes I suppose, and it feels like a weight I've been carrying my entire life is gone. Thank you, Spock.'

Spock feels himself reaching for Jim's mind; it's open and bright at the edge of his perception. He pulls his shields up before he can do anything reckless. 'It was my pleasure... Jim.'

Jim grins and this time he does clap Spock on the shoulder. 'I've been trying to get you to call me Jim for how long now, and all it took was stealing a shuttlecraft? Gotta make a note of that for the future.'

Spock draws his face into overdone pained lines. 'Will my continued use of your given name prevent such a repeat?'

Jim's smile softens. 'You'll have to wait and see.'

****

Once Jim and the diplomatic team have beamed down, Spock returns to his quarters to compile his report. It took longer than usual, because he found himself unwilling to divulge the whole truth for Jim's sake, but his duty as first officer demanded he inform Starfleet of all matters which concerned the captain and the smooth operation of the ship.

In the end, he included every detail of the events but gave only the vaguest details of the reasons for Jim's prr'itan. Once the report is finalised and lodged, he records and sends a brief message to Commander Kirk, advising her of the resolution and Jim's restoration.

It has been an exhausting mission, and Spock hasn't slept a full allotment in a week so he powers down his terminal and retreats to his bedroom. His mattress has been restored to its usual place, his quarters are a soothing five degrees warmer than the rest of the ship and he is still thrumming with satisfaction at having helped Jim to heal. He falls asleep as soon as he is horizontal.

****

Their mission at Phthia now over, the Enterprise is sent on a month-long stellar cartography mission. The thinking seems to be that the crew deserves a break after the captain's prr'itan, but Spock is a little sceptical of the wisdom. It essentially means that no one has any duties to perform, and Terrans in particular are prone to unwise actions when bored.

Jim seems quite cheerful, though, and declares a month of maintenance and spot drills before cornering Spock by the science station on the bridge.

'I noticed in your file you're trainer-certified for Suus Mahna,' Jim leans a hip against the edge of Spock's console and folds his arms. 'It just so happens we have some spare time. You feel like throwing me around the gym for a few hours?'

Spock considers his queue of journal articles to catch up on, the tedium of their current mission and the endorphin rush that a round of sparring would provide. 'Very well. Have you any familiarity with the forms?'

Jim grins. 'Only from watching you kick people's asses for them. It looks... eminently logical, as martial arts go.'

Spock inclines his head. 'It is indeed. Shall we?'

****

The sparring mats are empty when they reach the gym. A smattering of crew are utilising the various types of equipment on the other side of the room, but for once there isn't even a pair of security guards sharpening their skills.

'Which martial arts are you familiar with, sir?' Spock asks as they run through a warm up routine. 'Suus Mahna shares elements of similarity with several other fighting styles, though it does rely on a logical approach to each encounter.'

'Just throw me around a bit, Spock,' Jim says, lunging forward to stretch his hip flexors. 'I'm feeling a little antsy; need to work off some boredom.'

'Very well,' Spock tests Jim's reflexes by lashing a leg sweep, but Jim dives backwards with a delighted laugh. 'Suus Mahna relies on a combination of logical triage of targets, knowledge of nerve strikes and joint locks, taking advantage of your opponent’s momentum and effective blocking.'

He punctuates each item on the list with an attack, and Jim successfully fends them all off. Jim is quick, which is no surprise since Spock has seen him in action many times, but there is a drastic difference in their strength. Jim is in excellent condition, but the physiological differences between a Terran and a Vulcan are pronounced, so it isn't long before Spock manages to pin Jim to the mat.

'This pin is called Tal Gersh,' Spock says, pressing Jim's hands into his own shoulders, making sure to be gentle as he settles his weight on Jim's ribcage. 'It is used to restrain an opponent in hopes of calming them down, hence the face-to-face position. My knees prevent an elbow attack and very few beings possess sufficient flexibility to kick in this position.'

Jim immediately tries to kick, twists his wrists ineffectually, tries to throw Spock off. Spock waits and makes sure his grip does not become painful.

'OK, Spock,' Jim pants after five minutes, eyes twinkling and face shining with sweat. 'You got me.'

Spock finds himself suddenly aware of every point of contact between them; Jim's mind reaching towards him and the strong rhythm of Jim's heart under Spock's hands. He finds himself staring into Jim's eyes from rather closer than usual, the iris little more than a ring of blue around huge pupils. His fingers clench on Jim's wrists reflexively, and Spock feels Jim's breath speed up.

'Spock...' Jim breathes, and Spock draws back before he can give in to the temptation to initiate a meld. He stands and takes three quick steps back, not trusting himself to offer Jim a hand to his feet. Jim blinks up at him from the floor, mouth hanging open, then he rolls himself backwards and over to kneel and stands up.

They stare at each other for a few moments from opposite ends of the training mats, then Jim flushes gently and turns away. 'I think that will be fine for now, Mr Spock.'

He doesn't wait for a response; just turns and walks out of the gym.

****

Spock spends the next three days finding duties to take him away from the bridge. He supervises a reorganisation of the botany labs, designs and implements an entirely new database for the new maps cartography is recording, goes looking for any anomalies in the computer and finds seven minor inconsistencies in dating on one of the engineers' personal logs... nothing which requires his immediate attention, in short.

'You're as bad as each other,' Dr McCoy says from above as Spock is inspecting the alignment of the secondary array for the short-range sensors.

'Indeed, Doctor?' Spock raises an eyebrow at the display, which is disappointingly free of errors. He stands and turns to face the doctor. 'To whom are you referring?'

Dr McCoy snorts and folds his arms as he leans against the bulkhead. 'You're worse than a pair of teenagers, moonin' over each other and too damn shy to do anything.'

Spock stiffens and finds himself glaring. 'Doctor, your insinuations are-'

Dr McCoy just rolls his eyes, so Spock turns to leave when he feels the sting of a hypospray and his feet stop co-operating.

'It'll wear off in ten minutes,' Dr McCoy says in brusque tones as he hauls Spock over to a cleaning supplies cupboard and shoves him into a startled Jim's arms. The door slams closed behind them and McCoy yells something through the door at them.

'He'll let us out in a little while, Spock,' Jim says, helping Spock to sit down. 'Or I'll court martial the bastard!' He shouts the last part at the door, but his only reply is an unconcerned snort.

Spock is already regaining motor function, but he does not draw back from Jim's hands. Jim, crouched beside him in the confines of a storage space is the opposite of an undesirable companion. 

After a few minutes, Jim sighs. 'Locked in a closet by my best friend. Locked in a closet with my First Officer and a bunch of space mops.'

Spock examines the closest piece of equipment. 'Actually, Captain, this is a suction device. It is not rated for wet spills.'

Jim takes one look at Spock's face and starts laughing. He laughs so hard he doubles over, tears streaming down his cheeks and Dr McCoy bangs on the other side of the door. Jim leans over Spock and bangs in response, one hand coming up to steady himself by resting on Spock's shoulder.

'Dammit, Jim!' Dr McCoy bawls. 'Get on with it or I'll come in and do it for you!'

'I'm not sure I want to know what he means by that,' Jim whispers, laughter still colouring his tone. Spock can feel Jim's breath on his cheek, and he shivers. Jim's mind is so welcoming, and it's right there.

'Are you OK?' Jim pulls back a little to stare into Spock's eyes, a concerned frown creasing his forehead.

Spock finds he cannot respond; he just stares at Jim, noting the differences and similarities between this Jim and how he was before the Phthians intervened. He is more cheerful, and it suits him very much. Quicker to laugh and he's lost the faint tinge of bitterness that sometimes led to Jim backing out of social activities.

This, Spock realises, is the person Jim ought to have been. The Jim his counterpart knew, from the timeline where Nero never came back.

'I am sorry,' he says, quietly.

'What for?' Jim cocks his head and leaves his hand on Spock's shoulder. He used to be much less comfortable with close contact too, always on guard and conscious of people's proximity. Now he doesn't even seem to notice, at least with Spock and the command crew.

'It occurs to me that had Nero never felt the need to revenge himself on me, you would not have gone through the events which necessitated the prr'itan,' Spock finds his hands twisting into the archaic gesture for begging forgiveness in the time before Surak.

Jim considers this for a moment, then his other hand comes up to cup Spock's neck. 'Your future self melded with me.'

Spock feels a brief, illogical flare of jealousy, and it must show on his face, because Jim smiles. 'My point is, when he melded with me, he let some things bleed through. His Jim had melded with him a great many times, and there was plenty of trauma in his life. But his Spock was there for him through it all, like you have been for me. Nero was insane; no one was responsible for his actions except Nero.'

Spock examines this statement. 'He should have had better control than to allow his katra to... bleed into yours.'

'He'd just watched his planet blow up,' Jim reminds him gently. 'And his Jim had been dead for eighty years-'

Spock twitches; they are the same age, but Vulcans live thrice the Terran lifetime. Suddenly that fact seems grossly unfair.

'-And they'd had a bond,' Jim finishes, the hand on Spock's neck squeezing comfortingly. 'It wasn't much, he clamped down as soon as he realised, but it was enough to give me a glimpse into the way things could've gone.'

'A... bond?' Spock's voice is unaccountably hoarse when he speaks. That timeline is not this one, and the existence of a bond between that Jim and Spock does not mean that his Jim will be remotely interested-

'Th'y'la, they called each other,' Jim says, and his tone tells Spock that he knows exactly what that means. Jim's hands leave Spock's neck and shoulders and travel down his arms to his hands. Jim lifts Spock's hands towards his own face, but he doesn't press Spock's fingers to his skin. 'Will you meld with me now? I... there are things which are easier to say there, but if you're not comfortable-'

Spock finds the meld points, fingers brushing the cool Human skin before he has consciously decided to oblige Jim. He lowers his shields and reaches for Jim.

He has never encountered a mind so welcoming. Jim accepts him wholly, joy echoing through his mind at the contact. It feels like becoming complete, and Spock presses forward; is aware of his lips meeting Jim's as their katras twine around each other. Jim tastes sweet and refreshing and exciting, both in the meld and physically. Spock finds himself opening his mind wider, accepting Jim's delighted curiosity deep into his mind and letting him explore where he will.

Spock can feel the tendrils of a bond forming, and he pulls his mouth away from Jim's far enough to whisper 'we should stop.'

Jim's hands have drifted into Spock's hair, and they stroke encouragingly. 'I want to. It's up to you, but I am one hundred per cent behind marrying you. I love you, Spock, and I want to spend my life with you.'

He presses a series of kisses to Spock's lips and broadcasts welcoming encouragement through the meld.

Spock wants to let the bond form, but surely it is too rushed? His only experience with sexual bonds has been his ill-fated betrothal to T'Pring. It would take years to form a full Th'y'la bond; years and compatibility. The bond which was trying to form would not be impossible to break, should Jim change his mind-

'I won't,' Jim sends, along with a sense of deep fondness. 'I don't change my mind easily, and I'm certain about this.'

Spock yields to their joined desire and stops holding the fledgling bond back. It takes root surprisingly deep in his mind, and he feels a tremor of surprise in Jim as they finally connect. Its roots grow through layer after layer of each of their minds; in time it will be inextricably entwined with them. It is a slender thing now, but strong. Pleasure thrums along it, pulsing back and forth through their minds in a glorious feedback loop.

Spock becomes aware of the physical world again when the door behind him opens again, and he hears Dr McCoy shouting a request for them to 'stop, for the love of god!'

Spock pulls back, and feels Jim easing back into his own head, a joyous peal of laughter travelling along the new bond which Spock folds into his memory carefully as they disengage. Spock strokes his fingers down Jim's cheeks before folding his hands in his lap and raising an eyebrow at the doctor.

'Thanks, Bones,' Jim says, laughter bubbling through his voice. 'I suppose I won't court martial you after all.'

Dr McCoy snorts. 'Does this mean I get to be best man?'

Jim grins at Spock and gets to his feet. 'I think you just were, right Spock?'

The sound Dr McCoy makes is profoundly satisfying to Spock, and he and Jim leave the doctor in the corridor to head for private quarters.

****

They go to Jim's quarters by unspoken agreement, maintaining a metre of distance throughout the short journey. As soon as the doors are closed, Jim engages the privacy mode and throws his arms around Spock's neck.

'Th'y'la,' Spock tries the sound of it, and the bond lights up with Jim's delight. 'Jim.'

Jim brushes his lips against Spock's and he trails two fingers long Spock's forearm and down to his fingers. Spock feels a thrill at the traditional Vulcan display of affection and he sends approval and gratitude towards Jim.

They move towards the bedroom, Jim walking backwards and pulling Spock by his hips. Jim pulls at Spock's uniform, throws his own tunic to the floor. Spock runs his hands over the planes of Jim's chest; smooth muscle cool and refreshing, and Jim broadcasts desire along the bond. Spock pays close attention to Jim's reactions as he explores; Jim's nipples are not erogenous zones, but his ribs let Spock witness a fascinating shudder. When Spock runs his hands along Jim's forearms, Jim throws his head back and moans.

'What do you want?' Spock asks, fingers tracing Vulcan letters on the skin of Jim's wrists, spelling out scraps of pre-reform poetry he'd read as a child.

Jim wrenches Spock's trousers open and reaches in. 'I want you,' he says as he kicks his shoes off. 'What about you?'

'You, Jim,' Spock replies. 'I want you too.' 

'Good,' Spock's hips buck involuntarily as Jim wraps his hand around Spock's penis and he hurriedly opens Jim's trousers to return the favour. Jim grins at him and shoves his trousers into a heap on the floor, steps out of them. He lets go of Spock and lies back on the bed, legs splayed as he beckons Spock to join him.

Spock removes his own boots, places them fastidiously by the wall, removes and folds his own trousers and underpants and kneels on the bed between Jim's knees.

'I want you in me,' Jim says, and the bond reverberates with his desire and love. It is a heady sensation which Spock spends a minute revelling in before he bends forward to brace his hands next to Jim's shoulders. Jim's hands come up to caress Spock's chest and to coax him down for another kiss.

'As you wish, Th'y'la,' Spock murmurs against Jim's lips. 'Are there special preparations to be made?'

He can feel Jim's amusement, lets Jim roll him onto his back to straddle Spock's waist. 'OK, you lie back and let me show you how this works.'

Spock settles himself against the pillows and rests his hands at the top of Jim's thighs. Jim bends forward to kiss Spock again, then reaches over to a drawer and produces a tube of personal lubricant. He makes a show of coating his fingers before reaching behind himself.

'The human anus is not self-lubricating,' Jim tells Spock as he shifts a little. 'So you have to use slick and relax the muscle by stretching it out before penetration.'

Spock tries to lean at an angle to allow him to observe, but it is impossible. Instead, he reaches a hand around to where Jim's fingers disappear into his own body. 'How many fingers?'

'One at first usually,' Jim pulls his own fingers out as Spock traces the rim of Jim's hole. Jim passes Spock the lubricant and wipes his own hand off on the coverlet. 'But you can start with two. I'll tell you when I'm ready for more.'

Spock coats two fingers in the gel and slides them inside Jim and Jim lurches forward with a groan. Through the bond, Spock can tell that it's a groan of pleasure, so he twists his fingers experimentally.

'Yeah,' Jim pants, sweat sheening his face and chest. 'Just like that, Spock.'

Spock widens his end of the bond, lets Jim's pleasure fuel his own as he massages Jim open. It doesn't take long before Jim is reaching for the lubricant again, coating Spock's penis this time before shifting to slide onto it.

Jim pauses for a few moments, and Spock can feel him adjusting to the penetration. Spock wraps his slippery hand around Jim's erection and strokes, the unexpected pleasure humming through the bond.

'Oh wow,' Jim breathes, staring down at Spock. 'This is amazing.'

'I concur,' Spock replies in the closest approximation to his duty tones as he can manage in the situation, just to hear Jim laugh again. 'Jim, you are extraordinary.'

Jim flushes with pleasure and starts to move, thighs tensing as he starts riding Spock.

Spock never expected to experience sexual congress with a bonded mate; not since T'Pring cast him aside. The difference is astounding. He finds himself understanding the exultations of T'Vali's poetry and the pre-reformation ballads recorded in the Vulcan Planetary Museum. Their physical pleasure is great, but the dimension added by the bond drives Spock wild. He can feel Jim writhing in pleasure along the bond, and he tightens his grip on Jim at the same time as initiating a full meld. Their minds touch fully and Jim comes, mind blowing wide and welcoming as he shudders through his orgasm. It's the only stimulation Spock needs to throw him over the edge too, and they collapse together on the mattress, breathing hard and stroking each other.

Not long after Spock has softened and withdrawn, Jim shifts in discomfort and gets up. He presses a leisurely kiss to Spock's lips, then his ear and limps into the bathroom. Spock hears the sonics start, and after five minutes Jim returns to the bed, clean and exhausted.

Spock takes his turn cleaning up while Jim strips the sheets and places fresh ones on the mattress. They lie down together, Jim resting his cheek on Spock's pectoral. The bond has settled into a quiet, reassuring murmur in Spock's mind, already much more deeply rooted than Spock had expected.

'We're made for each other,' Jim mutters, rubbing a freshly-shaved cheek against Spock's chest. 'Perfect together on the bridge, and perfect here. Now go to sleep, Bones is gonna be a nightmare tomorrow.'

'I have no doubt on that point,' Spock says, trailing two fingers along Jim's right ulna. 'My Th'y'la.'

Jim's arms tighten, and Spock feels certain that this is where he belongs. By Jim's side.

**Author's Note:**

> I made up the Phthians out of whole cloth, everything else is taken from the wider Trekiverse (if you need clarification, my tumblr, here or the memory alpha wiki).
> 
>  **The abuse was not sexual** , but concerned adults worry that it might have been.


End file.
